The Effects of a Good Polyjuice Potion
by Suffering Artist
Summary: What would you do to stop your least favorite teacher from turning you into your least favorite classmate? Yeah... it's gonna go there. HPxDM.
1. Professor Snape on PMS

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and it's affliates are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and company. I don't not lay claim to any characters or refrences in this fanfiction. I do, however, lay claim to my plot line. So keep your meat hooks off! Kay?

**Warnings:** May contain Slash in later chapters, including a possible lemon/lime. Rated for language and future innuendo. Not for the kiddies and with good reason! Always remember... don't like, don't read.

**Authoress Ramble:** Well... we'll just see how far this one gets. Usually my interest in my stories is only kept alive by reviews. (hint: mores review more updates) I'm actually quite proud of this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed slaving over it for five months. No joke.

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_**The Effects of a Good Polyjuice Potion**_

**_Proffesor Snape on PMS_**

If Professor Snape had been stung by a Blast-Ended Skrewt after spilling a potion that would shrink his manhood, getting his abnormally long and greasy hair washed with rose scented shampoo, falling down ten flights of stairs, having every bone in his body accidentally removed by a blundering wizard (Lockhart! cough), and re-growing his broken body with a full dose of Skele-Grow, he still would have been in a better mood than he was that afternoon.

A rambunctious group of seventh year students found themselves allowed to enter the double-potions lesson about five minutes late. Their professor's eyes, however dark and menacing they usually were, had turned a burning black (some swore it was tinted red) and guided them to their certainly imminent doom with no room for questions, remarks, or funny breathing.

Lavender Brown later claimed that she almost fainted from trying not to breathe whenever the professor had turned his foreboding eyes in her direction.

With a violent flick of his wand, Professor Severus Snape managed to shut the door and the window shutters, send all the supplies to the young wizards sitting fearfully before him, and pull up the instructions to the potion they were about to attempt on the black board (in unison, no less, which made a few students jump).

"Partner assignments," he hissed, glaring balefully at his students.

"Granger and Longbottom."

Neville heaved a sigh of relief, obviously pleased that he wouldn't be the brunt of his prissy professor's rage that afternoon. He couldn't possibly screw up even the most complicated of potions with Hermione as a partner.

"Zabini and Brown."

Lavenders face took up a look of half pleasure from gaining such a handsome partner, but also mixed with a grimace from having to work with a Slytherin. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Weasley and Thomas."

Ron and Dean high-fived in obvious relief.

The list continued for around two minutes as names were aimlessly fired off and paired with random partners.

Then, a malicious glint came into the professor's already stormy expression. With deliberate slowness and obvious pleasure in his voice, he said;

"Potter and… Malfoy."

Harry's eyes widened and then squeezed shut as he felt a head-ache prematurely throbbing in the back of his skull. Just the thought of partnering—for double potions no less—with _Malfoy_ had his lunch threatening to rise.

Opening his eyes, Harry caught the end of a deathly staring match between the potions master and his godson. Funny. He would have expected that hollowed, hateful gaze to be permeating his eye balls, not precious Malfoy's.

The silence continued to dangle in the air as Snape paired of the wizards, and then the Potions Master set down his list of names and sat back in his large leather-cushioned chair.

"You will keep these partners for approximately two months, depending on the efficiency of both partners." His eyes flashed dangerously, and the groan of despair that almost punctured the thick air was hushed. "It will take you that long to create and maintain the potion. In the instances when the instructions call your attention to the potion outside of class time, I may require that you tend to your potions. Depending on my mood, I _might_ tend them myself."

His significant grimace let everyone know that this potion would most likely take up a lot of outside of class time. "Turn to page four-hundred and thirty-two, there you will find the instructions for… the Polyjuice Potion."

Harry turned his head a fraction of an inch to find both Ron and Hermione's gaze. They all smiled just slightly before turning back to their professor. They would have little problem with this assignment, they'd done it before.

Not that Snape had any idea of that.

"This potion is one of the most dangerous and… painful potions you can ever take. The Ministry of Magic has finally allowed me to teach my seventh year students how to create it. When the potion is completed, you will take just enough to transform into your partner for five minutes… give or take."

There it was. That hateful glare was directed fully at Harry this time. An uneasy pit of despair settled in his gut. What if he was stuck for a full hour as Malfoy, instead of just a few minutes? Harry's eyes squeezed shut as he felt his nausea coming to a head.

There was a stunned silence in the air, every wizard there still afraid to move wrong.

Almost immediately the Potions Masters pursed his lips at the lack of activity, and tapped his fingertips against his desk top. "Move!" He barked.

There was a flurry of motion as the students tried to release themselves from the maddened gaze of their professor. It didn't take long. Severus Snape closed his eyes and rubbed his temples before turning his chair around and looking into his collection of abnormal potions. Harry gathered his things and heaved himself to where Malfoy sat, his designer clad legs propped up on the table, a devilish smirk affixed upon his face.

"I think he truly hates me." The blond said quietly to himself, taking a lock of his perfectly oiled hair in his fingers and twirling it. "Two months, looking forward to nothing but your face and a stinking potion, and at the end of all the torture, I get to _look_ like you too. Joy."

"I'm in no better position than you are Malfoy." Harry hissed, setting up the cauldron and laying out the ingredients.

"Always so optimistic, Potter. What gives you such boyish charm?" Malfoy teased with a roll of his eyes.

They were both quiet for a minute as they rattled around the potion, before Malfoy gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming as he said, "My, you do seem to know what you're doing."

Harry froze over tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into his bubbling vat of water. "It's not that difficult…" He muttered, tossing the final bundle in.

"You haven't even opened your book." Malfoy pointed out, his eyebrow arching curiously.

Harry tossed his book open to the proper page and continued. "I looked it over before I moved."

"Mmm." Malfoy replied, slipping his feet off the table and leaning forward over the brew. "This looks like it will be… interesting."

Harry caught himself before he could respond with a despairing, "You have no idea." He sighed as he ran his fingers over the printed directions for slicing the Lacewing flies into even halves.

"Mind giving me a hand?" Harry asked pushing a half of the flies and the remaining knife towards Malfoy. Grumbling, the Slytherin took up a fly and a knife and glanced at the directions before beginning to dice his pile of insects into halves. Harry cringed at the speed at which he did it. "_Even_ halves, Malfoy." He said.

"They _are_ even." Malfoy said sarcastically, finishing his pile.

"How can they be even if you're cutting them quicker than lightening?"

"Check them for yourself." Malfoy replied, piling the flies together and scooting them towards Harry with a swift flick of his hand.

Harry examined the flies, surprised to find that Malfoy wasn't lying. They were cut into perfect halves. "How did you…? Never mind."

"Too much for your tiny brain to process?" Malfoy chuckled, "I know I can boggle the mind sometimes." He sat back again. "Want me to do yours?"

Harry looked at his slow progress, and then looked on to the next set of directions. "Maybe you ought to."

Smirking, Malfoy diced the remaining flies and deftly scooped the entire stock into the potion. Immediately there was a spurt of deep purple smoke and the potion turned a midnight hue. Harry smiled. "We'll need to stir it clockwise five times, and then counter clockwise three."

He gripped the spoon and stirred it precariously five times to the left, and three to the right. The potion swirled and became more of an indigo type hue.

"Perfect." Malfoy murmured. "Now what?"

"We have to wait for a half hour, exactly, and then fix up some more knotgrass to throw in every fifteen minutes until class is over."

"Fun." Malfoy said, throwing his body back into his chair. Shielding his eyes from light with an arm thrown over his face, he yawned dramatically and said, "Wake me when it's time."

"Whatever." Harry sighed, setting the timer.

A quick glance around the room told Harry that he and Malfoy were some of few already waiting for the thirty minutes to pass until they could add more knotgrass. He caught Hermione's worried stare as his eyes swept through the room.

"Are you okay?" She mouthed at him.

He nodded and almost laughed at Hermione's expression as she relaxed. Looking like a giant weight had been lifted off her body; she slumped in her chair, and then sat back up again when Neville asked a question.

"Granger looks particularly worried about you." Malfoy said quietly, one eye peeking open.

"She seems to think that I'm not enjoying myself. Don't quite know where she would get _that_ impression." Harry said sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest.

"Touché," Malfoy replied.

There was a steady silence between the rivals. Harry made it a point to watch the timer ticking away the seconds and listen to the loud conversations of people struggling with the potion around him. Draco closed his eyes again, yawning dramatically every couple of minutes.

"She really needn't worry, though." He said suddenly. "I won't kill you in front of so many witnesses."

"Gee, I'm really relieved now." Harry snapped.

"My, my, you're touchy today."

Harry glared at him. "I haven't had the best day."

"I can see that."

Another pause in the conversation. Harry felt his eye twitching.

"You know—"

"Why are you so damn talkative?" Harry said cutting him off, and feeling the tone of annoyance touching his voice. He forced himself to keep the volume down before Professor Snape took out his frustrations on Harry's house points.

Malfoy's lips twitched at the angry tone in his potions-partner's voice. "I'm bored. I usually make small talk when I'm bored." He opened one eye again, and smirked. "Mostly, my conversations fall on more interested and much less hostile ears, but hey, I'll take what I can get."

Harry rolled his eyes, and nearly sighed with relief as the timer went off. He tore the knotgrass into chunks and sprinkled the bundles evenly over the potion, then set the timer for an excruciating fifteen minutes.

"You seem edgy Potter."

"Working with an enemy doesn't really give me a reason for relaxation."

"I already said I wouldn't kill you in front of so many witnesses." Malfoy pushed his lips out, trying to contain a laugh. "Though in a dark alley some day… who knows?" He trailed off with a snicker.

"Why the bloody hell are you in such a good mood?"

"I'm simply making the best out of a bad situation. Pity you won't do the same."

"I don't see much good I can make out of this."

"Then be miserable." Malfoy replied, shrugging in an off-hand manner that made Harry's blood boil.

"_You_ don't make it any easier." He muttered heatedly.

Malfoy opened his eyes and, suppressing a smile, made a mock-pout push his lips forward and eyebrows upward. "Potter, I'm hurt."

"Fuck you." Harry spat.

Malfoy chuckled. "Such foul language I've never heard in all my days! Perfect Potter seems to have a problem with his potty mouth."

"Let's see how many times you can say the letter 'P' in a sentence, while still managing to insult me." Harry scoffed under his breath. "Makes you sound like a fucking moron."

"Pardon?"

Harry couldn't help himself; he had to snicker a little. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Blessedly, Malfoy chose not to respond and leaned back in his chair again, feigning some form of a snooze. Harry folded his arms and stared at the ceiling with disinterest until the timer went off again. He tore up the knotgrass and scattered it over the potion, watching with boredom etched in every line on his face as the potion slowly simmered from the indigo-blue shade to a stormy ocean grey. Harry found himself thinking how close the color was to Malfoy's eyes. Sometimes when it reached full boil, he could imagine the bubbles of rage in Malfoy's eyes when he became angry. The potion resembled him.

And then suddenly, class was over.

Harry gathered his things, feeling light headed from sitting in a room full of stinking potions.

Meeting up with Hermione and Ron outside the potion's dungeon door, they quickly made their way to dinner, not pausing to dither, in case Professor Snape found a reason to call them back and dock them house points or give them detention.

Once safely back in the will lit corridors, Hermione sighed and smiled. "Well, that couldn't have been worse…"

"No kidding." Harry and Ron muttered in reply at the same time. They grinned at each other as the stress lifted from their shoulders and they entered the spacious Great Hall, already packed with students eating from the piled plates of food. Sitting down and preparing their plates, Ron adamantly entered himself into a conversation of bashing Snape's mood during the last class.

Seamus was loudly proclaiming that Snape had been in such a foul attitude due to the fact that his mysterious "man-lover" had refused to bed him just before class. Lavender Brown swore up and down that she had heard the greasy potion's master muttering about a rejection letter from Durmstrang in regards to a better teaching position. Ron and Harry joked uproariously about the possibility of Snape having accidentally taken a potion that would shrink or enlarge certain areas of the body, giving him the over all appearance of a female.

Hermione, her voice scathing and her look apprehensively amused, was the first to break the boy's hilarious chatter down. "I don't think you want to be saying such things. You never know if Professor Snape could be listening."

Ron blanched and then cracked a grin. "I bet you he has listening charms set up in all the girls dormitories."

"Ronald!" Hermione screeched, going positively pink at the ears.

"I wouldn't put it past the smarmy git to give himself a good squeeze while he listens either." Seamus put in with a disgusted laugh.

"Hmph!" Hermione grumbled, obviously ill-at-ease.

"That's enough, guys." Harry said defensively, not wanting to make Hermione mad so early in the evening. She seemed to lighten up after that, but made sure to throw shoddy glances Ron and Seamus's way every chance she got.

With the table talk easing away from the calamity of making fun of the Potion's Master, everyone turned to their own conversations, and the one Harry wanted to discuss least seemed to interest almost anyone who had been in Potion's that day.

"You and Malfoy seemed able to function today. Was it okay, Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Besides his usual taunting and flamboyant conduct, he seemed to behave alright." Harry replied. "Same old Malfoy, mostly."

Ron grunted. "'Same old Malfoy' would have torn your head off first chance the git got." He shoved his mouth full of steak and glared directly at the back of Malfoy's head. "Greasy old sleaze. He's already starting to look too much like his precious _Godfather_." Ron scoffed.

Harry couldn't help but smile a little. It was true; Malfoy's hair hadn't been properly cut in perhaps a month or two, and some of the longer strands, oiled with some sort of Italian stick-up-the-ass designer's hair gel, were beginning to resemble Snape's oily black hair. Despite the contrast between blonde and black, there was no mistaking the uncanny hair-similarity.

"Malfoy's nose is to long and pointy for him to look like Snape."Harry said, holding in a laugh only by inches.

Ron laughed. "True. The size of Snape's nose is hard to match. Can't deny the tendency for length in the Malfoy family thought."

Even Hermione laughed remembering Lucius Malfoy's girlishly long locks.

"Really though, Harry. Do you think you'll manage? The Polyjuice Potion is stressful enough without adding in a brat like Draco Malfoy." Hermione voice nervously.

"If he gets out of hand, I'll just threaten to turn him into that beloved white ferret. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten the last time _that_ happened."

Everyone within ear-shot laughed.

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**Authoress Ramble:** Love it, hate it, want to bed Malfoy with all your heart? Tell me all about it by clicking that little blue button below!


	2. The Surname vs The First Name

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and it's affliates are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and company. I don't not lay claim to any characters or refrences in this fanfiction. I do, however, lay claim to my plot line. So keep your meat hooks off! Kay?

**Warnings:** May contain Slash in later chapters, including a possible lemon/lime. Rated for language and future innuendo. Not for the kiddies and with good reason! Always remember... don't like, don't read.

**Authoress Ramble:** Hah! I told myself I would finish this chapter even if it killed me, and look! Look! It''s done, and I'm not dead... yet. Enjoy.

**The Effects of a Good Polyjuice Potion**

**The Surname vs. The First Name**

**- -**

Harry sighed and set the book back on its shelf. His boredom levels had reached an all time high, and he had nothing to do for the next hour until the library would close and he would be expected back up in the common room for bed.

Of course he dared not go back to the common room prematurely, otherwise he faced the wrath of Hermione in a bad mood, and her waspish attitude of late was beginning to grow on his nerves. No, better to just stay and be bored than to sit and be hounded for every small speck of something that was not okay with the world (and wasn't his fault).

"Mr. Potter! Stop moping about and find what you need! Either pick a book or leave!"

Harry jerked around to face Madam Pince looming over him with strict, beady eyes, and he nodded foolishly. Plucking a random book with a strange gold binding on the spine, he went to the tables and sat, trying to appear busy until the vulture like woman stopped watching his every movement. Almost as soon as she moved to antagonize another student he shoved the book away from him and opted for staring at the ceiling.

Life at Hogwarts had grown dull. His two biggest problems of late were Hermione's attitude and the Polyjuice Potion that had everyone feeling a little frazzled. He ran a hand over his eyes and tried to keep his mind on other things, like the upcoming Quidditch match or the graduation that was coming over the horizon. Neither subject had any appeal so as Harry left his arm to drape across his eyes, he focused on nothing—rather than drifting back into the negative—and fell into a subdued moment of total quiet.

It was not to last.

"Potter. What a coincidence seeing you here."

Harry jumped at the unexpected voice and swiftly turned to face the speaker. "Malfoy." He said contempt dripping in every syllable. "Do you make a point of stalking me to make my life miserable?"

Malfoy chuckled breathily. "You always seem to think everything's all about you. I simply came to have a quiet study session, and lo and behold here you are."

"Go away." Harry said bluntly, throwing his arm back over his eyes.

There was an empty silence, and for one hopeful minute Harry thought he'd managed to drive off his evil enemy. Sadly mistaken, he jumped almost a full foot into the air when Malfoy put his chilly pale hand at the nape of his neck.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!"

"Mr. Potter! _Shush_!" Madam Pince scolded him from behind a pile of books.

Harry glared daggers at Malfoy as the Slytherin laughed maliciously under his breath.

"I take it Madam Pince doesn't like you very much." Malfoy said with an airy wave of his hand. "Pity. Though I get the feeling she doesn't care much for anyone."

"Will you go _away_?" Harry hissed.

"No." Malfoy responded, all traces of teasing gone from his face. "I don't think I will."

Harry rolled his eyes and snatched the strange black book from where he'd tossed it on the table. The cover had gold embroidery and gold metal etched into the black leather. _Bottle it Up: A Complete Wizards Guide to the Art of Bottling Potions Made to Tamper with Emotion_. Harry sneered at it, but opened it to the first page anyway, trying to immerse himself in the subject matter completely.

"You know, I'm not entirely looking forward to becoming you." Malfoy commented out of nowhere.

"What?" Harry snapped, looking up from the book.

"That blasted potion. I don't much like the prospect of becoming you for… any amount of time really. And who's to say Severus doesn't give us an extra bit to taste and has us looking like each other for longer? No offense but I don't fancy an afternoon as Harry Bloody Potter."

"The transformation only lasts for an hour, at most. He'd have to force it down us every hour to have it last a whole afternoon." Harry replied, almost absently.

"Potter, you seem to know so much about this damned potion." Malfoy said curiously. "Why is that?"

"It's all in the book." Harry replied quickly, ducking his head behind the black and gold book in his hands.

"Really now." Malfoy said skeptically.

Harry glared at him over the top of the cover. "Read it for yourself."

"I think I will."

"Fine." Harry dearly hoped that he would be right and all the information he was letting slip would be in the potions book.

"Fine."

Harry ducked back behind the book and tried to focus solely on the words printed on the crackling paper. They were hand-written in a tight calligraphic scrawl that he found hard to make out and had a hard time caring to try. Eventually he set it back down with a huff.

"Bored Potter?"

"Annoyed, irritated, bored," Harry listed off sarcastically. "One of the three. Pick your favorite."

"You're always so testy, why don't you just relax?" Malfoy asked, seeming to be truly interested.

"I don't get a chance to relax." Harry retorted. "I don't have the time or the ability."

"You should take some Calming Draught. That stuff will lull you right out."

"Thanks but no thanks; I need to keep my wits about me. There's something about having a homicidal maniac out to kill you that just doesn't make being doped up on potion seem appealing."

"Suit yourself," Malfoy said quietly. "I think you needn't be so worried though. What's the chances that the Dark Lord will come raining down with the fury of death in his eyes on the one night you aren't completely sober?"

"One in a million." Harry replied. "But that one is still a chance I'm not willing to take when it comes to a choice between living and dying."

"Your point has been made."

"The library is closed, boys." Madam Pince said in her raspy squawk of a voice behind them. "Back to your respective houses, and mind you don't go starting any trouble." She watched them suspiciously as they packed up and left down the corridors.

"Oh yes, because I simply can't go one night without beating the shit out of you." Malfoy said scathingly when they were out of ear-shot. "You'd think we can't be civil."

"We can't. Usually." Harry sighed, folding his hands behind his head as he walked. "Being that our grades in potions depend on each other, I think we've been enforcing an unspoken truce. I think its scaring people."

"It doesn't mean I still can't hate you." Malfoy replied. "But for the sake of the grade, I'll mellow out."

"You have been mellowed out, Malfoy." Harry pointed out.

"Watch it, Potter."

They took a few more steps in silence. "Why do we always do that?" Harry asked on an impulse. "Call each other by surname, I mean."

"I call everyone I don't particularly trust or like by last name. Or some sort of fucked up nick-name." Malfoy said with a smirk.

"I have no reason. I just do."

"Because first name terms with an enemy is just weird?"

"Something like that, probably." Harry replied, losing interest. What did it matter what he called Draco Malfoy. As long as they were enemies, Malfoy was probably the most courteous name the blonde could possibly expect.

"So what are we going to do about Snape and his evil scheme to turn us into each other?" Malfoy asked after a few more minutes of silence.

"Does it really bother you that much to be me for five minutes, Malfoy?" Harry asked, truly curious.

The Slytherin shivered, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Any amount of time as a the bloody Gryffindor Golden Boy bothers me, Potter. I actually don't fancy not being myself for even a moment. It's not just you. Imagine turning into Pansy Parkinson, or Goyle... or Longbottom, Ugh!"

Harry looked around, without realizing it they had wandered down to the grounds, halfway between the Quidditch Pitch and the lake. Almost as though reading each other's thoughts they simultaneously sat on the grass in a swirl of robes. Malfoy ran his fingers through the grass while staring back at the castle. Harry watched his perfectly smooth skin in the moonlight, almost silvery with its pallid coloring. There was something pretty about his face, a calm that wasn't normally there.

Harry shook his head and hurled himself backwards on the grass, tired but not willing to make up an excuse to leave and return to the dormitories.

"What's wrong Potter?" Malfoy asked, sounding distracted.

"This feels weird." Harry responded. "Why aren't we fighting? Why aren't we arguing?"

"Grades." Malfoy offered quickly. "It's all for the sake of the grades."

"I don't think that's it. We could start a fight right now, and you and I would be fine enough to participate in the next potions lesson. So why don't we? There's no one around to stop us."

"Not willing to risk a detention?" The blonde sounded unsure of himself now.

"I would gladly take any number of detentions for the chance to hit you."

"What a violent nature you have Potter." Malfoy said in his most reprimanding voice, though still sounding just slightly uneasy.

"Not tonight though."

Malfoy chuckled. "I'll start a fight if it makes you feel better."

"That's okay. I think we'll live without it."

"Perhaps we will."

They were quiet for a long time. Harry found himself drifting easily in the moment, his eyes finding his favorite constellations in the night sky. It was almost like being alone, but then there was suddenly movement and he tensed, immediately ready to fight.

Malfoy was lying down as well, maybe five feet away. "What are you thinking about Potter?"

"I'm wishing I wasn't me."

"That's interesting. Why?"

"Because then I wouldn't have to worry about saving an entire race of people. Or dying. Or dooming the world to the source of pure evil."

"Do you really worry about it all the time?"

"Every minute of every day."

Malfoy whistled. "How do you get anything done?"

"I push it to the back of my mind. The worries are on replay continuously in my head, even when I'm thinking about something completely different."

"Potions class, Voldemort, homework, Voldemort, dinner, Voldemort, sleep, Voldemort." Malfoy said sarcastically.

Harry laughed. "You're unbelievable."

Malfoy shot him a look. "Why Potter, I didn't know you were so infatuated with me."

Harry snorted. "You know what your problem is Malfoy? You think everyone loves you."

Malfoy raised himself up on one arm, almost mirroring Harry's exact position. They had closed the distance between them by about two feet. Harry was starting to feel claustrophobic. His rival's eyes were smoldering with dangerous fire. "You don't like me, Harry?"

The air changed, suddenly there was nothing but tension between them, and one wrong move could end the truce they had so carefully cultivated. There was a pause, and Harry's eyes got a little wider. There was a threat in that tiny sentence, somewhere, but the use of his first name threw him.

"I like you when you're not being an asshole, Draco."

The silence was uncomfortable. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and pushed himself to his feet in a movement almost to quick for Harry to catch. The space where Malfoy had been seemed so empty in almost hurt, and Harry had to take a deep breath and remember where he was before he could look up at the Slytherin.

"I think we should go to our own house dormitories."

"Do you now?"

"You forget that I'm a Prefect Potter. I can order you if that makes a difference."

Harry looked at the grass then stood up slowly, brushing the grass and dirt from his robes with slow, precise gestures. When he looked up, he almost jumped. Malfoy was only six inches away, staring him down. Harry stood tall, not leaning away from the close proximity.

"You could order me to do anything you want Malfoy, but it doesn't mean I'm going to obey."

The double-entendre was not lost on the snake of Slytherin House. He grimaced. "You wish."

Harry stepped closer, his mouth close to Draco's ear, almost touching it as he whispered. "So do you."

--

"Harry! Harry!" Someone was shaking him.

Harry shook his head and looked up with bleary eyes. His glasses were askew, and he was confused. There was a drop of slobber on the corner of his mouth and his cheek felt abnormally hot.

"Harry, you should go to bed, get some real sleep."

He looked around, suddenly realizing he had been slumped over his History of Magic Essay, he was still in the Gryffindor dormitories.

It had been a dream.

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine… a strangely vivid dream, even more vivid than he would have ever cared to see.

He looked at Hermione's face, wondered if any of it had been real. The look of Malfoy's skin in the moonlight, the easy silences between them, they'd seemed so real at the time.

"Come on Harry." Hermione said quietly, easing him out of the chair.

He lifted himself off to bed, silently praying that he just had an over-active imagination. Getting dressed in his pajamas, crawling between the covers of his four-poster bed, he clenched his eyes shut.

Tomorrow was Potions, and it was not going to be easy.

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**Authoress Ramble**: You thought it was real, didn't you! Didn't you! Well, didn't you? Tell me what you really thought by clicking my favorite blue botton just a few centimeters down from this lovely ramble. Go on. You know you want to...


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